


Tales of Evelyn Trevelyan: Salt

by insideofadog



Series: Dragon Age Nonsense [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drabble, Facts, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 13:30:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5129423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insideofadog/pseuds/insideofadog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short story that I wrote on Tumblr, responding to a request for a fact about my Inquisitor. Thought I'd put it here so it doesn't get lost forever...</p><p>A fact about Evelyn: the food at the Ostwick circle was downright terrible. Evelyn’s a pretty decent cook when it comes to camp food, but she knew nothing about good food prepared in an actual kitchen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tales of Evelyn Trevelyan: Salt

After our first excursion to the Hinterlands, I was relaxing by my tent and feeling a bit better about our situation. We could close the little rifts, which meant we had a good shot at closing the big one, which meant I had a good shot of maybe making it back to Kirkwall before next winter instead of being crushed beneath a pile of demons. Or chewed up by demons. Or dismembered by demons. Or punched by Cassandra.

And by “we could close the rifts” I meant the Herald of Andraste could close them. I’d say she’s not what I expected, but then again, after all I’ve been through, what was I expecting? By this point in my career, I should be demanding griffons and musical numbers, but I’ll settle for a mage who’s not afraid to get a little bit of blood on her.

I was sitting at my usual spot at Haven, then, nursing some mulled wine and thinking about how I’d seen her cut the tendons at the back of a Templar’s knees with her staff, when who should come up but the Herald of Andraste herself.

“Varric,” she began, “I have a question for you.”

“Of course,” I smiled, looking forward to writing down whatever ridiculous thing she had to say.  It’s really a wonder how every crazy mage I meet is crazy in their own way. They’re all insane snowflakes.

Instead of saying something odd, she  _did_  something odd instead: she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small parcel, wrapped in wax paper. The paper opened to reveal…two meat pies.

“I asked the cook, several servants, Josephine, and Leliana,” she explained. “These pies are…delicious, Varric. I cannot figure out  _why_.”

“You…want to know about the  _pies_ ,” I stated.

“I want to know what ingredient is different from the pies I am accustomed to, yes. As far as I am able to determine, the component parts are the same as the leek pies I ate at Ostwick, but this pie is greatly superior.”

“Is this…important?”

She cocked her head at me. “Of course not. I had assumed that food was an appropriate topic of casual conversation, but if you’d rather discuss the weather…”

I looked at her, then at the pies. They did look tasty. And I think she was trying to be personable.

“Eh, have a seat and give me one of those, Herald. I could use the company.”

“Excellent!” She gave me an enormous smile and passed me a pie.

So we chatted for a few minutes, and I ate the pie. Turns out she’s a decent audience. It was also a decent pie, but not spectacular. Her face fell a bit when I told her.

“Nothing special about this pie, Herald.”

“Ah, well,” she sighed. “Perhaps it will simply remain a mystery.”

To my extreme delight, the Commander chose that particular moment to walk by. I’d noticed the man was as jumpy as a nug in a room full of starving dwarves when he was around the Herald, so calling him over to talk to us seemed like a brilliant idea.

I waved at him, and he reluctantly made his way over to the campfire.

“Commander,” the Herald smiled. He gave her a curt nod. Rude, just the way I remembered him. Probably hates being polite to mages.

“Curly, the Herald needs you to eat this pie,” I announced. “Do it for the Inquisition.”

“What?” he snapped. “I have so many more important things–”

“Don’t concern yourself with the pie, Commander,” the Herald glared at me. “I was just telling Varric that it tastes differently than the same pies did in the Circles, that’s all.”

Cullen frowned, then sighed, and accepted the pie from the Inquisitor. He took a bite, chewed, and nodded.

“Mmm,” he said, and took another bite. 

“Salt,” he added around a mouthful of pie. “Circle kitchens always skimped on the salt. I noticed it too.”

The Herald snapped her fingers and beamed at Cullen. “Salt! Of course! The lard I used for cooking in camp contained salt. No wonder the quality of my food was always superior to the kitchens at Ostwick. Thank you, Commander!”

 _Oh, she really lights up when she smiles like that,_  I thought.  _That’s nice._

Cullen appeared to have also noticed this because he flushed and seemed to develop a bit of a problem with swallowing the pie. And that’s when I realized that she wasn’t making him uncomfortable because she was a mage, she was making him uncomfortable because he thought she was _pretty_.

That’s also when I realized that I had the ability–-nay, the  _obligation-_ –to make his life incredibly uncomfortable. I owed it to Hawke to try.

“Sit with us, Commander,” I offered sweetly. “Have a drink. I was just telling stories of Kirkwall.”

“I should go,” he coughed, and turned and stalked away without even saying goodbye.

The Herald watched him go with a thoughtful expression on her face. She tapped her finger against her cheek, and I wondered if she was contemplating how handsome he was. Maybe I could do a little matchmaking after I was done tormenting him…

“Salt,” she muttered. “Salt.”

Nope.


End file.
